


Hitman's Hostage

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Vince's Princess ♥ [22]
Category: Pulp Fiction (1994)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Daddy Kink, F/M, Gun Violence, Protectiveness, Vincent Is Sometimes A Protective Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 13:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19014013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: after visiting your place and it being deserted, your boyfriend Vincent grabs his colleague on a mission to find his girl ♥





	Hitman's Hostage

You sniffle, your cheeks stained from dried tears mixed with crusty mascara. “Stop fucking crying,” the lady snaps, throwing an evil scowl at you. The guy in the corner gives you an almost sympathetic look when he glances at you, but you doubt he’d step up and do anything.

You’re sitting at a grotty wooden table, hands and ankles both cuffed. Two henchmen-type fellows are standing either side of you, making sure you don’t try anything, the nasty lady is sitting opposite you, looking you up & down and the sympathetic-looking guy is standing beside the door, presumably guarding it. There’s not really anything to the room– it’s cramped, dimly lit and stinks of piss and cheap cigarettes… hardly a palace, to say the least.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend Vincent is pacing up & down the hall in your apartment– he had gone there to see you as a surprise, but clearly it hadn’t gone to plan. “Come on, Jules, pick up, Goddammit!” he growls to himself, phone pressed against his ear. Vince knew something had happened to you, and he suspected it had something to do with an asshole he and Jules were supposed to be assassinating in the next couple of weeks. 

“Hello?”

“You gotta help me, man, (Y/N), she’s– she’s not home!”

“Man, what the fuck you doin’ callin’ me at this time? What time is it–” Jules scoffs, fumbling around to check the clock, “–fuckin’ almost four in the morning?”

“Did you not just fuckin’ hear me? Somethin’s happened to her, I know it!” Vince cries, clear panic in his shaky voice.

“Alright, alright. You at hers?”

“Yeah.”

Jules sighs in deep thought. He was used to thinking fast when something bad happened (which was, in all honesty, pretty frequent considering he worked with Vincent). “Right, you got the details about… damn, what’s his name– Samuels? Somethin’ Samuels?”

“Yeah, I know who you mean. Yeah, I do.”

“You got his address?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, here’s what you gotta do, Vince– are you listening?”

“I’m listenin’, Christ,” says Vincent impatiently.

“Don’t blaspheme to me,” Jules growls. “Okay, go get his address from whatever shitty napkin you wrote his details on– see, motherfucker, I  _told_ you you should’a used paper!”

“Fuckin’ hurry up, man, I mean, she could be in danger!” Vince urges, fumbling through his coat pockets trying to find the napkin.

“Right. If it  _is_ him, which I’m pretty sure it might be, he has connections to Marsellus as we both know. And if he has connections to  _him,_ he can probably get ahold of our shit too, fuck knows how though. If he knows what’s important to you besides your precious hair, he knows who the fuck to take hostage. I don’t know, just a wild guess, so I’d go to his place fuckin’ pronto if I were you.”

“Yeah, man, that makes sense– I swear to God,” Vince scowls, clenching his fist around the napkin, “if he’s got my fuckin’ girl, I’ma shoot him right in his goddamn asshole.”

“Don’t blame ya. I’ll meet you there, you ain’t going alone,” Jules says, hanging up the phone before Vince can protest.

Not even ten minutes pass and the two hitmen reunite at Jules’ place– Vincent, in such a panicked temper, had ran (something he literally  _never_ does) to his car and sped well over the speed limit to Inglewood, where Jules lived. “Get in, hurry,” Vincent says as he pulls up, his cherry-red car screeching to a halt. A determined, fierce expression is wiped across his face. “Thanks, man,” he adds as Jules gets in the passenger seat.

“No worries. If I’m honest, I was already awake,” Jules admits, his colleague screeching back onto the road, a tiny bit calmer than before– company always helped when he was mad.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Watchin’ TV,” he says, flicking the radio on.

Vincent glances at him with a curious smile. “What were you watchin’?”

“The Simpsons.” Jules says this with such a serious face that Vince lets out an almost-chuckle. It wasn’t much, but Jules was helping lighten the mood a little.

“Ah. You got the address?”

“Uh-huh.”

For the rest of the car journey, they enjoy a bit of casual back and forth while Jules gives Vincent directions, the car screeching round corners in the quiet ambience of the night. Once again, Vincent slams his foot on the brake as they arrive at this ‘Samuels’ guy’s place– a grotty-looking apartment complex in what’ known as a ‘bad part of town’. “You got the room number?” asks Vince, looking up at the building.

“Twenny-two.”

“A’ight,” says Vincent, marching into the complex and making a beeline for the stairs. “No fuckin’ time for elevators,” he continues to a shocked Jules, “if that piece’a shit’s got my girl, I’m not waitin’ around for a death box to take us there.”

Jules tails his colleague up the staircase, truthfully taken aback by his determination and anger. “Fair do’s, man.”

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the third floor, and although Vincent had already started panting by the second floor, he loads his gun while marching to apartment No. 22. Jules joins him, loading his gun too. “You cool?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m cool.”

Vincent waits a few moments, mentally preparing himself, before rapping aggressively on the door. You hear it from the room you’re in– a distant, muffled knocking. “Go and answer it,” orders the lady to one of the henchmen, and he instantly heads out of the door, closing it behind him with care. For somebody so tall and tough-looking, his obedience towards the woman definitely shows. You watch him with anxious curiosity as he leaves the room– his thick arms are heavily tattooed and he’s wearing a sweaty white vest with ratty old jeans. Needless to say, you wouldn’t fuck with him if you met him in a dark alley.

The man opens the door slightly, eyeballing the two hitmen suspiciously. “Yeah?”

“Who the fuck are you?” scowls Vincent, studying the guy’s stern face.

“‘Scuse me?”

Jules clears his throat. “I think you’d better let us in.” He discreetly shows the man his gun, aiming it at his stomach.

The guy’s eyes widen a little as he spots the gun and he shuffles aside, not breaking eye contact with Jules, to let them past. “Come in,” he mutters, closing the door behind them. “ANNIE!”

You hear him yell from the room you’re in, and can only assume the lady’s name is Annie (they hadn’t told you anything) as she marches out of the room after hissing at the two remaining guys to not let you utter a word. By now, your legs are numb and cold and you pray that whoever’s out there can do something to help.

Annie emerges from the back room, a scowl on her face and hands on her hips. “Can I help you?” she asks, looking the two hitmen up & down.

Vincent, pointing his gun at her, scoffs. “You know damn fuckin’  _well_ what we’re here for– where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Back in the room you’re in, you can barely hear the muffled voices, unable to tell who it is. 

Suddenly, a wave of panic strikes you as you get the familiar sensation of an incoming sneeze– a vague tingling in your nose. Your eyelashes flutter as you erupt with a  _HUGE_ sneeze, almost screaming ‘ _WAAHCHOO!’_ as your head jerks forward with it. The two men still in the room with you look at each other like dumbasses, unsure of how to react.

Although fairly far away, Vincent hears that familiar sneeze he always giggles at and something in his brain snaps– he shoves Annie and her henchman out of the way and staggers around the place in a rush, Jules following him with his gun pointed at the two. “BABY!?!” calls Vince, looking all around. You hear him, but with the threatening looks the two guys are giving you, you keep your mouth shut. “You tell me where the  _fuck_ she is, or I swear to God–” your boyfriend growls, getting all up in Annie’s face about it. As the henchman tries to intervene, Jules decides he’ll save some time and shoots the guy in the stomach, leaving him to writhe around on the floor in agony, blood pooling beside him. As far as he was concerned, it only meant they’d probably have one less person to assassinate on that upcoming job.

“Thanks, man,” says Vince, his own gun aimed at Annie’s forehead. He turns back to her. “Take me to her.”

She doesn’t say a word, surprisingly, and, taking one frightened glance at her henchman, leads the two to the room you’re in. You hear footsteps and a few moments later, Vincent kicks open the door. “(Y/N)!” he gasps, lowering his gun.

“Hey, motherfucker, don’t put that thing away, stupid ass!” Jules chokes, giving him a classic ‘Vince-what-the-fuck-are-you-doing?!’ look.

You sit there, stunned, not knowing what to do– terrified, your head snaps from Annie, then to the two men, then to Jules & Vincent. “Uh… hi?” you say timidly, looking at your boyfriend.

“You,” he says to the other henchman guy standing behind you, “hands up, stand next to the bitch.” Admittedly, it’s a bit of a turn-on seeing Vincent like this– his face is sterner than you’ve ever seen it. He watches the guy shuffle over to Annie, holding his hands up, shaking slightly. By now, the two men that had been guarding the door and yourself are standing by the door with Annie, Vincent & Jules pointing their guns at them. “Okay,” he continues, “ya little bitch. Gimme the fuckin’ key to those cuffs you got my girl in.”

“Slowly– and don’t you fuckin’  _dare_ think of try’na whip out a gun or some shit, or you’ll get a motherfuckin’ bullet straight through your head,” Jules threatens, giving Annie that familiar harsh stare. 

She scoffs and fumbles around in her blazer pocket (for a room as revolting as this one, she doesn’t look like she belongs there, the blazer looks expensive to you). Vincent holds out his hand, giving her a dirty look as she yanks her hand out and drops the keys. “Alright, now all of you turn around, face the wall ‘n’ put your hands flat against it,” he orders, and they do so.

He nods at Jules to keep an eye on them, Jules returning it, then lowers his gun and marches over to you. Carefully, Vince uncuffs you and tosses the handcuffs at the wall behind you. “Alright,” he growls, “sugar tits, AKA beautiful girl in the chair– hold onto my arm, I’ll escort you out.”

Tentative in case the three do anything, you wrap your arms around Vince’s, though not taking your eyes off of them. “We’re goin’. But don’t move a fuckin’ muscle or I swear to fuckin’ Christ you’ll get a bullet in your brain.” Frowning, he leads you past them and out of the door, Jules kicking it shut behind you.

“C’mon, let’s get the fuck outta here,” says Jules, and the three of you hurry down the stairs and out of the building, Vince carrying you to his car. “Wonder where the Samuels guy is.”

Vincent scoffs as he lowers you in the passenger seat. “Poor fucker probably left the country tryin’ to avoid that crusty old bitch.”

“Wouldn’t blame him, man,” chuckles Jules, getting in the backseat.

The car ride to Jules’ place was almost silent, the only sound coming from the radio, which Vince had put on low. “G’night, man. Call me tomorrow, and motherfucker– drive safely.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks, man,” Vince replies, smiling tiredly. You both wave him off and ride home, his hand cupping your knee warmly.

As he pulls up on his drive, you take his hand and roll up his sleeve, checking his watch. “Jesus Christ, it’s almost five-thirty,” you sigh. He looks down at you, looking exhausted.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“S’not your fault, Vince,” you say softly, holding his hand in your lap.

He sniggers slightly. “Heh. Snot.” The two of you sit in his car for a moment, sharing relief, before he gets out and unlocks his front door. You trail after him, your legs aching from being sat cuffed in that chair for so long, and he wraps an arm around your waist, following you to the kitchen. He picks you up and places you on the counter top, fetches a chocolate bar from the cupboard and hands it to you. “This is to say I’m sorry for lettin’ them… y’know.”

“I’m never gonna forgive you, asshole,” you smirk, pulling him closer so you can hug him.

For a second, his dumb ass believes you, and he rubs your thighs a little. “How can I repay you, fruitcake?” he asks, kissing your cheek over & over. “Y’know, aside from the chocolate.”

“I have an idea,” you smile, hopping off of the counter and skipping to Vincent’s bedroom. He follows you, a curious but smug expression on his face, and lies on his bed, hands behind his head. “Wait there,” you giggle, heading into his en-suite and closing the door behind you. As Vince waits, he lights himself a cigarette while you strip down to your underwear and freshen up your makeup in the mirror (he keeps spare in case you ever stay over and forget yours). 

Satisfied, you open the door and his face drops. Taking the cig out, Vince exhales shakily, his eyes roaming your body. “What–” he begins, but you interrupt.

“I don’t want you to fuck me, before you get any ideas,” you say, crawling onto the bed and straddling him. He caresses your thigh as you do so, eyes darting from yours to your boobs. “I want you to touch  _me_ and make  _me_ feel good.”

“What do I get outta this?” he asks, already massaging your tits through your bra.

“My forgiveness? And the comforting notion that you made me feel amazing?”

“Yeah, that and a fuckin’ stiffy I can’t do nothin’ about!”

“Babe, I sat in that fucking gross ass room for ages, wrists and ankles cuffed, and you’re complaining about having a hard on?” you scoff, feeling him filling out his pants beneath you.

“Until you grow a dick and feel the pain of not bein’ able to c– oh, Christ, baby,” he groans, growing harder as you take off your bra. “Those tits, I swear.”

“I know. Are you gonna touch me or just stare?”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

You roll your eyes at your airhead of a man. “Babe, use your imagination, Christ, do I have to order you around?”

“Sorry, honeypie, c’mon,” he says, giving your ass a squeeze, “get off me so I can eat that amazin’ pussy of yours.”

Smiling, you do as he says, wiggling out of your panties. Vincent spreads your legs with a smirk, holding them open and making eyes at you. “Aw, baby doll, you’re gushin’ for me, aren’t you?” he purrs, rubbing your inner thighs.

“Yeah, for a change,” you tease, fondling your breasts in eagerness.

He moves closer to your pussy, lips inches away from your throbbing clit. “Stop bein’ a little shit or I won’t be doin’ nothin’ to this beautiful little cunt.”

“Sorry, daddy,” you gasp– for such a ditz, it’s a breath of fresh air when he finally takes control of you.

“Where to begin…” he wonders, then kisses your thighs sloppily, purposely avoiding your pussy. You grow wetter with each kiss, pining for the touch of his warm tongue. Seeing you in agony, he smirks. “Alright, I’ll eat ya out, baby, Christ.”

Running his tongue over his top lip, Vincent spreads your legs further apart, hands firmly on your thighs, and glides that moist tongue between your silky lips. He groans into your pussy as he melts into it, his warm spit mixing with your arousal. Squealing, you grab the duvet. “Feels so good, daddy…” you breathe, rocking your hips a little.

By now, Vincent is in the zone, all of his focus on you. He wraps his thick, hairy arms around your thighs, smirking as he slides his tongue up over your pulsating clit, making you gasp. “Is this what you wanted, baby girl?” he teases, kissing over your clit sloppily.

“M-mhm,” you stutter, almost writhing around in pleasure.

Growling in concentration, he returns to eating you out, determined and passionate. “There’s a good girl,” he smirks, pulling away for a moment before burying his lips and tongue in your dripping cunt. Not even thirty seconds later, your legs begin to tremble as you begin to orgasm, an uncontrollable moan escaping your lips. Vincent gently carries on as you climax, still smirking, until you finish. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and strokes your leg lovingly before throwing you one of your silk nightdresses to put on. “Was that what you had in mind?” he asks, sniggering as he undresses down to his boxers and joining you in bed.

You drape his arm around you and cuddle up to his warm body. “Something like that. I’ll decide in the morning if you’re forgiven,” you smile, kissing his cheek.

“Sure, pumpkin pie,” he sighs, turning the lamp off. He kisses your temple softly and the two of you get a well-deserved rest.


End file.
